


All We Wanna Do Is Eat Your Brains

by lynnearlington



Series: Nerdverse [6]
Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie party</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Wanna Do Is Eat Your Brains

“You could help me with this you know,” Santana grunts, trying to maneuver a heavy box into the living room. 

Brittany doesn’t even look up from the couch, green Gameboy Color clutched in her hands. “Busy,” she mutters. 

Santana rolls her eyes. “You’re playing Pokemon.” 

A definitive nod. “Yes.” 

Santana would laugh if she wasn’t about to drop a huge box onto her foot and probably break a few bones. “Brittany, pause the damn game, and help me out here.” 

Attempting to move around the couch, Santana props a corner of the box up on the back of it and looks down at her girlfriend, sighing at the pout displayed on Brittany’s face. “Okay, fine, whatever. Be lazy and unhelpful.” 

Brightening quickly, Brittany goes back to her game, shifting only so that her head hangs off the couch and her feet are propped up on the back of it. Her Gameboy is held above her face, and Santana can hear the familiar sounds that indicate Brittany’s character is walking through grass. She unsuccessfully attempts to muffle a laugh. 

“I love you too,” she mumbles, shaking her head, but smiling.

Before she can attempt to move the box again, her phone rings from the pocket of her jeans, vibrating against her hip. 

When she’s finally able to fish her phone out and slide it open, Quinn’s voice greets her. “I’m bringing Rachel.” 

“No,” Santana answers automatically, one hand keeping the box on the back of the couch. She watches Brittany rhythmically press the buttons on her game, lip held between her teeth. She smiles for a second. 

“Yes. I didn’t call to ask you. I called to tell you.” 

“Fine, she can come and hang out in the hallway or something.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Quinn deadpans. 

“It’s a costume party,” Santana argues, eyes roaming over Brittany still. Her gaze lingers on a patch of skin between Brittany’s jeans and her shirt. She tries to calculate how much time she has before people start showing up. 

“Why do you think she wants to go?” Quinn replies wryly. 

“That’s the opposite of comforting.” Brittany glances up from her game briefly and catches Santana’s eye, smiling when she notices the obvious look Santana is sure is all over her face. 

“We’re both coming,” Quinn insists, “just a heads up.” 

Brittany laughs a little, returning to her game, and Santana rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says into the phone, hanging up before Quinn can say anything else. She pockets her phone, and readjusts her grip on the box, picking it up and turning towards the kitchen, the bottles of alcohol inside clinking against each other. 

She has most of the bottles put away in the kitchen, when two warm hands slide over her stomach, and an even warmer body presses against her back. 

“Thought you were busy,” Santana says, her stomach tightening a little as Brittany’s lips touch her shoulder. She feels the body behind her shrug. 

“My Charmeleon evolved,” Brittany answers, fingers sliding under the waistband of Santana’s pants. 

“Congratulations,” Santana manages to get out, the words lost a little around a gasp as the top button of her pants snaps undone. 

“Thank you,” Brittany replies brightly, her lips on the skin under Santana’s ear. Santana’s hands grip the counter in front of her, her ass pressing back into Brittany as her zipper is lowered slowly. 

She tries to turn around, shifting her hips a little to the side, but Brittany presses against the move, pushing her harder in the counter and keeping her in place. 

“You’re such a top,” Santana teases, gasping a little when Brittany’s hand moves further south. 

“You like it,” Brittany whispers. Santana can feel Brittany’s lips spread into a smile against her neck. 

Brittany’s hips press harder against Santana, and strong fingers slide past her underwear. Santana’s stomach flips over, her eyes flutter closed, and she laughs again. “Maybe you have a point.” 

“Yeah, so shush, and enjoy it,” Brittany says, biting down on the skin of Santana’s neck. 

Inhaling sharply, Santana’s knuckles go white against the edge of their counter top as she does what she’s told. 

\--

The doorbell rings, and Santana sends up a silent thank you that she’s had enough time to catch her breath. She reluctantly detaches herself from Brittany, pushing her shirt back into her pants and re-buttoning them. Her legs are a little shaky, but she manages to get to the doorbell, the sound of Brittany’s laughter in the kitchen making her smile. 

Taking a deep breath, she wipes the expression off of her face and opens the door, scowling a little bit at Quinn and Rachel on the other side. 

“This is a  _zombie_  party,” Santana deadpans, eying Rachel’s fedora as she walks past Santana. At least the hat is appropriately shredded and bloody. 

“Zombie speakeasy,” Rachel corrects. 

Santana opens her mouth to argue, because no way is Rachel just usurping this party, but Quinn steps in front of her mouthing  _just go with it_. She holds up a bottle of this raspberry vodka Santana knows Brittany loves. 

Shrugging, Santana grabs the bottle. “Zombie speakeasy. That could work.” 

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Quinn asks, accusation coating her tone. 

Santana smiles, licking her lips a little bit, and laughing when a disgusted look spreads across Quinn’s face, her hand raising to wave in front of her. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” 

“We’ll do our makeup later tonight,” Santana answers. “Once more people get here and stuff.” 

Brittany walks out at that point, hugging Quinn hello. “Don’t worry,” Brittany assures Quinn, “we have great costumes. I’m going to be a zombie and Santana’s going to be a plant. Like from the game.” 

Santana shakes her head from behind Brittany, making a slashing gesture against her neck. Yeah, Brittany wants Santana to dress up as a plant, but there is no way Santana’d be caught dead in such a thing. 

Quinn eyes Santana up and down skeptically, laughter in her eyes as she shifts around in her own costume of shredded clothing and bloody makeup. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

“Whatever,” Santana scoffs, “your costume is a joke, just like every year. What are you? Zombie extra number five?” 

Quinn opens her mouth to bite back, but Brittany interrupts. “I think you look hot, Quinn.” 

“Hot?” Santana asks, turning towards her girlfriend, brow contracted. “ _Hot_? She’s a member of the undead, Britt.” 

Brittany looks between both of them with an open expression. “So?” 

“Zombies aren’t  _hot_ ,” Quinn explains, Santana nodding to agree. 

A sad expression crosses Brittany’s face; she turns to Santana. “So you wouldn’t do me if I were a zombie?” 

Santana laughs. “Well you’d be  _dead_ , and that’d be illegal.” 

“That’s not the point,” Brittany insists, still pouting a little. 

Quinn laughs, but before Santana can hit her, or appease Brittany, Rachel pops back up near them, a bottle of bourbon in her hand as she looks at Quinn. “This is an appropriate zombie speakeasy drink, don’t you think? It kind of looks red.” 

Wide-eyed as she looks at her girlfriend, Quinn grabs the bottle from her with an emphatic, “ _No_.” 

Santana laughs at Rachel’s put-off expression and thinks that maybe having the annoying girl here won’t be so bad after all. 

\--

Puck shows up not that much later. Santana wouldn’t normally take notice of such a non-event, but he’s being trailed by Sam Evans, and _that_  makes her pay attention. Her eyes go straight towards Sam, blond hair and huge lips, and it doesn’t take long for her to shoot up from her seat to stalk towards Puck. 

Pulling him by the arm towards the kitchen, and sparing only an insincere smile towards Sam, Santana watches Brittany greet Sam in the living room, before turning to Puck. “You brought Sam,” she hisses. 

She can already tell that Puck knew his move wasn’t going to go over well. His shoulders are pulled back, and his hands come up, palms forward, between them. “Just hear me out.” 

“This isn’t an open-invite party,” Santana continues. If she weren’t so focused on berating Puck, she’d be slapping herself for how much she sounds like Rachel right now. 

“Okay, yes, except he brought his Dreamcast,  _and_  I Am Legend collector’s edition, including the original two remakes.” 

Santana glances back at Sam, still talking to Brittany. She weighs her options, feeling swayed by the idea of having a Dreamcast in the apartment. She hasn’t played on that console since hers broke over a year ago. “What about your end of the deal?” 

Puck smirks victoriously and pulls a dvd out of his back pocket. “Shaun of the Dead. As requested.” 

Smiling, and snatching the dvd, she cocks her head back towards the living room. “Fine.” 

He winks, leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. He’s darting out of the kitchen before she can smack him, and she’s left laughing as she wipes her cheek with her palm. 

\--

The party starts to pick up, Santana’s living room getting more crowded with people. It looks a little out of place to have a bunch of people in zombie costumes at a party this far removed from Halloween, but Santana’s grown past caring about things like that. 

The movies Sam brought with him are playing on Santana’s new flat screen television (the real reason for this party), and she can hear Puck and Quinn, sitting together with Sam on one of the couches, arguing over whether or not the undead can reproduce.  _The irony_ , Santana thinks with a mental eye roll. She laughs a little, at the way Rachel is sitting next to them, hat cocked to the side on her head, and looking extremely bored as she practically chugs the drink in her hand. 

She hands Brittany her own drink, raspberry vodka and soda, as she sits down on the couch next to her. She’s just getting comfortable when the doorbell rings over the sound of the movie, and Santana groans. 

Looking around the room as she stands, she tries to determine who is missing. She shoots a questioning look at Brittany, but her girlfriend just shrugs, a look of innocence on her face that Santana doesn’t believe for one second. “Who else did you invite?” 

Taking a sip of her drink, Brittany shakes her head. “No one,” she says. 

The doorbell rings again before Santana can argue. She goes through a list of their friends in her head, wondering whom Brittany would invite that Santana wouldn’t, but she can’t come up with any answers by the time she gets to the entryway. 

Then she cracks the door open to reveal Mike Chang, shifting anxiously on his feet outside. She supposes she should have seen that coming. She hopes Brittany told him the rules. Arching her eyebrow, she stares at him expectantly. 

“Brittany invited me,” he says, attempting a smile. 

“I know,” she replies, “and?” 

Shoulders sagging a little, Mike sighs. “Marvel Zombies vs. Army of Darkness,” he says, holding up the stack of books in his right hand. “All five issues.” 

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Fine, you’re in,” she says, pushing the door further open, and reaching out to snatch her loot. “Everyone’s in the living room.” 

Mike pushes past her. Closing the door with her foot, Santana thumbs through the five new items for her collection, walking through her apartment to store them in the closet for the time being. 

On her way back to the living room, Quinn stops her, latching on to her bicep and tugging her close. “Rachel’s drunk,” she whispers into Santana’s ear, her voice conveying something like anxiety. 

Santana laughs. “Good for her. She could use it.” 

Quinn’s grip tightens a little. Santana pulls against it, brow contracting at her best friend. “Can you take care of her for me?” Quinn asks in a whisper. 

“Hell no,” Santana retorts immediately. “She’s the consequences of your bad choices, not mine.” 

“Come on,” Quinn whines. “Sam has a House of the Dead 2 Dreamcast port, and there’s no way I can get a chance to play if I have to worry about Rach.” 

Santana’s eyes go wide at the idea of getting to play the old rail-shooter on one of her favorite systems. She turns back to Quinn, smirking. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you fed her liquor.” 

Quinn keeps her grip on Santana firm, and takes a deep breath, eyes darting about, probably trying to think of a decent bargaining chip. “Mike and Puck are going to start the Evil Dead marathon in your living room once I Am Legend is finished. Just put her on the couch, watch the movies, and it will be fine. I’m just saying, make sure she doesn’t do anything ridiculous like fall over, or start making out with people.” 

“Why exactly would I want to stop that?” 

Quinn sighs, shoulders dropping. “You know what? Never mind, clearly I can’t trust you with such a difficult task. I’ll do it.” 

“What, you think I can’t handle a drunk midget?” 

Arching an eyebrow, Quinn smirks a little. “I don’t know; can you?” 

Santana clenches her jaw, knowing she’d cornered herself. “I hate you.” 

Quinn smiles. “I know.” 

Without saying another word, Santana just turns around, flips Quinn off over her shoulder, and walks back to the living room. 

\--

It turns out that watching a drunk Rachel is a lot more tasking than Santana anticipated. Especially since Brittany is zero help whatsoever. All her girlfriend can seem to do is laugh. 

“Brainssssss,” Rachel growls, holding her arms out in front of her, before breaking into hysterical laughter. Brittany joins her, pressing into Santana from the opposite side of Rachel, and nearly spilling her drink in Santana’s lap. 

She tries to focus on Bruce Campbell’s acting and the explicit scenes of gore splashing across her beautiful new TV, but Rachel is practically snorting in her ear. 

Desperate to get the girl to be quiet, Santana wracks her brain for a strategy, finally landing on one. She turns to Rachel, smiling. “You know, they made a musical out of this,” she says, gesturing towards the screen. 

The laughter dies abruptly, Rachel’s face switching to serious in an instant. “What?” 

“Evil Dead,” Santana explains, lowering her voice, and looking into Rachel’s eyes for the next two words, “ _The Musical_.” 

Rachel’s eyes go comically wide, her jaw dropping a little bit, as she turns towards the TV. She shifts back onto the couch, quieting, and Santana lets out a sigh of relief. Brittany lets out a little laugh next to her, the sound muffled in the fabric at Santana’s shoulder. 

Then, after a few minutes of blissful silence, Rachel sits up suddenly, her hand gripping Santana’s thigh tightly. “I have to find the music. Do you have the sheet music?” 

“ _No_ ,” Santana lies. 

“Yes,” Brittany says at the same time. 

Rachel whips her head towards Brittany, eyes alight with sudden excitement that shoots worry straight through Santana. “Go get it,” Rachel instructs Brittany. “We can attempt to put together our own little production here.” 

“No,” Santana says, shaking her head rapidly. “No, no, no,  _no_.” 

Rachel’s still staring at Brittany expectantly, so Santana turns to look at her girlfriend too, naturally expecting her to follow Santana’s lead. 

It’s a dumb expectation though, because Brittany’s long past the age where all she does is follow in Santana’s shadow. Instead, she just shrugs her shoulders, smiling a little at Santana, before saying, “Sure.” 

Groaning at the clapping Rachel does in reaction, Santana lets her head hit the back of the couch. “Fine,” she says, picking her head back up, pushing up off the couch and standing. She points at Brittany. “She’s your responsibility now.” 

Brittany just laughs as Santana flees the room, unwilling to be near whatever disaster is about to come down on her apartment once Rachel gets her hands on that music. 

\--

When Santana walks into her office, Puck and Quinn are engaged in what looks like a heated game of House of the Dead. Next to them, Sam is laughing as he sips on his drink. 

“You know, they ported this to all the next gen consoles,” Santana says, walking in and taking a seat next to Puck. 

“What’s your point?” Quinn keeps her eyes on the game. 

“My point is,” Santana replies, gesturing towards her Xbox 360 in the corner, “that you could be playing this game on a nicer system right now.” 

She sees Puck’s jaw clench, his fingers moving to shoot at a sudden rush of zombies. “Stop trying to get us to give up a controller. You can play next game.” 

Rolling her eyes, Santana sighs, and leans back into the cushions. “Fine,” she breathes. 

“Me too,” Sam pipes up, putting his drink in the air. 

“Where’s Rachel?” Quinn asks. 

“She’s fine,” Santana reassures her. “She’s with Brittany.” 

Puck laughs, like it’s a joke, so Santana kicks out at his shins. “She’s fine,” she repeats. 

Looking skeptical for a second, Quinn spares her a quick glance, but seems unwilling to care about anything that isn’t the game in front of her. She grabs a handful of chips and shrugs. 

“Who would win in a fight,” Quinn starts, her words a little muffled around a mouthful of chips. 

“Me,” Puck interjects, definitively. 

Santana rolls her eyes. “No one is asking you.” 

Quinn gives Puck a glare, before turning back to Santana. “Zombie dinosaurs or zombie Nazis?” 

“Dinosaurs,” Santana answers immediately, looking at Quinn like the answer is obvious. 

From the corner of her eye, Santana sees Sam shake his head, leaning forward toward the group. “Zombie Nazi dinosaurs,” he intones solemnly. “Just saying.” 

Santana wants to snap at him, because he totally wasn’t invited to just be a part of their long-standing tradition, but the guy has a point here. 

“You know,” Sam continues, reaching forward to grab some of Quinn’s chips. “It’d be like, an apocalyptic version of Dino D-Day.” 

Santana’s brow furrows. “That game isn’t even out yet.” 

“The demo is, or was, that mod prerelease, and what does it matter? I’m talking conceptually. Can you imagine?” 

“I’m with Sam,” Puck says. “Zombie Nazi dinosaurs.” 

Santana shoots him a look, but when she turns to Quinn, her friend has a look of agreement all over her face. It’s not even that Santana disagrees with Sam; it’s the principle of the thing. He can’t just show up to one of their parties and acts like he  _knows_. 

But before she can say anything like  _he doesn’t even go here_ , or  _the Half-life 2 mod of Dino D-Day sucked_ , the door to the room slams open, and Rachel practically stumbles in the room. 

“Rachel!” Quinn exclaims, standing up suddenly. Puck lets out an expletive as Quinn drops her controller and leaves him to fend for himself. 

“Quinn,” Rachel replies, looking serious. “I need you.” 

Quinn regards her girlfriend warily. “What for?” 

“We’re putting on a musical,” Rachel answers, like that’s completely normal. Santana sighs, shaking her head at the floor and trying not to laugh. 

When she chances a glance at Quinn, her friend is giving her a look that reads something like  _you had one job_. Santana just shrugs, managing not to smile. 

Rachel reaches around the door frame and pulls Brittany into view. Santana’s eyes go wide as she notices Brittany’s new costume. She wonders, suddenly, how Brittany managed to pull it together so fast. 

“You put your costume on,” Santana observes, stepping forward towards her girlfriend. 

“With some recessions,” Brittany says. 

“Revisions,” Rachel corrects. 

Brittany nods, unfazed. “Right.” 

“Dude, Fabray. We’re playing a game here,” Puck says. 

Quinn waves him away rapidly. Sam, seeing his chance, scoots towards Puck on the couch and picks up Quinn’s discarded controller. Santana would stop him, but she’s a little distracted at Brittany’s newly revised costume. The detail is impressive. 

“Wow,” Santana breathes, flicking at a piece of shredded cloth on Brittany’s chest. “Nice.” 

“Thank you, Santana,” Rachel preens. 

“How did you...” she trails off, still a little hesitant to give Rachel Berry, of all people, a compliment. 

Rachel, swaying a little into Quinn’s side, smiles at Santana, her eyes visibly glazed over. “I make it a point to understand all aspects of the stage. Costume design and makeup included.” 

“You’re so normal,” Santana jokes. 

Brittany looks down at her costume, and then back to Santana. “Do you like it? Rachel made it for the play thing.” 

“Musical,” Rachel corrects. 

“We’re not putting on a musical,” Quinn finally says, drawing Rachel’s attention. 

“Quinn you didn’t tell me that Evil Dead was made into a stage production.” 

“Why, exactly, would I have told you that?” 

“A  _musical_ , Quinn,” Rachel emphasizes, as if that’s lost on anyone. 

Quinn just rolls her eyes. 

“Well,” Santana interjects, “that answers that question.” 

Brittany turns to her, questioningly. “What question?” 

Smirking a little, Santana looks her girlfriend up and down. “Whether or not you’d be hot as a zombie.” 

“You see her in that costume ever year,” Quinn interjects. 

Santana doesn’t take her eyes of Brittany, blue eyes alight with happiness. “So not that point right now, Q.” 

Brittany’s smiling widely, and Santana knows she just scored some major points. “Yeah?” 

“Totally,” Santana says, stepping closer, and ignoring their friends. “How long did it take to get this stuff on?” 

Brittany licks her lips, before saying, “Not that long.” 

“How long do you think it would take to get off?” She hears Rachel’s muffled protests next to her, and reminds herself to thank Quinn later for putting a muzzle on the girl. 

Brittany winds her arms around Santana’s neck, pulls their bodies in together, and smiles. “You want to find out?” 

Nodding rapidly, Santana laughs, grabbing Brittany by the waist and pulling her towards the door. 

“But the musical!” Rachel cries. 

Santana waves her off over her shoulder, “Use Puck and Sam. I’m sure Mike’d be willing to join.” 

“We’re not putting on a musical,” she hears Quinn tell Rachel, but she doesn’t stop long enough to hear the rest of the argument. 

They make it back through the party, smiling politely at some of their guests, before getting back to their bedroom, Santana pushing Brittany up against the door once it’s closed. Her hands are fumbling with the clothes draped over Brittany, when he girlfriend stops her. “Wait,” Brittany gasps. 

Santana lets out a low exhale, pressing her forehead into Brittany’s shoulder. “What?” 

“Put your costume on,” Brittany orders. 

Laughing, Santana shakes her head. “No.” 

“Yes,” Brittany counters. “Put it on or I won’t take mine off.” 

Santana pulls her head back and looks at Brittany skeptically. “Come on, babe.” 

“Put it on,” Brittany insists. 

“My zombie costume is in the hall closet. That’ll take way too long.” Santana grips Brittany’s hip tightly, presses her hips forward in an attempt to convince her girlfriend that any wait is too long. 

“Not that costume,” Brittany replies, a slight turn to the corner of her mouth. 

“No,” Santana says, eyes widening. “I’m not putting that thing on just to have sex. That’s weird.” 

But Brittany’s bottom lip sticks out, and Santana feels herself caving. “It’s not weird.” 

Grip slackening, Santana pulls away a little bit. “It’s way too much work is what it is.” 

In a sudden move that Santana should have seen coming, Brittany twirls them until Santana’s back is the one pressed against the door, Brittany’s face hovering close to hers and their hips pressed back together tightly. “Put the costume on,” Brittany entreats, breath warm on her face. Santana hates how easy she is sometimes. Brittany’s fingers slide under her shirt, tracing her waistband, and Santana feels all her resolve flood away. 

“Fine,” she breathes. “Fine.” 

A wide smile spreads across Brittany’s face. “Awesome.” 

Rolling her eyes, Santana manages to push Brittany away and stalk to their closet. It takes her about a minute, but she eventually pulls out her costume and gets it on. She steps back out in front of her girlfriend, now sitting on the bed, and stares, unamused at her. 

“Sing the song,” Brittany instructs brightly, clapping, and bouncing a little on the mattress. 

“ _No_ ,” Santana says, laughing incredulously. “Can we get on with the orgasms?” 

“Sing the song, Santana,” Brittany repeats, this time looking serious. The expression clears a second later, and a smirk replaces it. “I’ll make it worth it,” Brittany offers. 

Shaking her head at herself, Santana lets out a low sigh, and gives in. “Okay,” she says. 

She takes a deep breath and begins. “There’s a zombie on your lawn, there’s a zombie on your lawn, there’s a zombie on your lawn, we don’t want zombies on our lawn.” 

They get through the whole song, Brittany interjecting with the zombie parts, and by the end, Santana can’t help but laugh. She’s still laughing in fact, when Brittany pushes her on to the bed, peeling the sunflower costume off her body, and whispers, “Brainssssss,” into her ear.


End file.
